Chapter 1 - The Beginning

It all begins in the city of Lune. The landmass that became the city of Lune was formed around 2200 BC when the Cerullian Ocean deposited silt creating the delta region. Reconstruction was a time of great change in the city of Lune. The Civil War had just ended, and the South was devastated. People called it, "land of many tongues."

The city is plagued by political and racial violence as the north tried to bring a new social and economic order to the south after the civil war.

A drastic change marked Lune's post-WWII experience nearly after 5 years. New bridges and highways were built to access expanding suburbs; a new city government complex opened downtown.

The City is divided into three municipalities, this system existed for about twenty years.

It was during the war era that Lune transformed a village-like environment of wooden houses into a city of sturdier brick buildings with urban infrastructure.

Lune remains a city of rich culture, proud people, and historic neighbourhoods that have a tight and unique culture, with pride of place and their relishing music, cuisine, and festivity. This city is a gem.

The city was the primary port in the south for immigration. Being the main and most crowded city people did different jobs here. There were very few healers who practised traditionally in their homeland near the mountains of Lune in the outskirts of the city. There were skilled artisans around the corner of the street who helped in making weapons for the army.

Within a few years, the newcomers were joined by their women and children. Meanwhile, a few blacksmiths were becoming the pioneer community's first specialized workers.

Everyone who could handle a knife was a part-time woodworker, making a range of products from rough spoons to fine furniture. But at the same time, they also had to be farmers, lumbermen, hunters, labourers, seamstresses, cooks, housekeepers, gardeners, nurses, parents, children and more. However, few of the settlers had the skills and knowledge to use a blacksmith's forge for more than a fancy fireplace, so these things for the army were usually made by the local smith. Often bladesmiths are sons of bladesmiths.

Most of the few bladesmiths who still practice today do it as a side line or continue as their family business. However, there is at least one man today who still depends on blacksmithing as his source of income. That man is Mark Wood, and he has practised his art for over 10 years on the same corner of the main street of Riverbend, Lune where his father operated before he did.

There wasn't any colour in his face, where his face showed it was white but not like other man's white, but a white to make a body sick. He has soulless blue eyes, one could get lost in his eyes. And his very short, luscious, blonde hair is styled with a crew cut. Standing 6ft tall with cream skin, this man has an arrogant feel about him.

He usually wears revealing old fashioned clothes. He wore a leather apron to protect him from stray sparks but the apron had so much grease over his plain shirt. He also wore sturdy boots to protect his feet and a belt to hold his tools.

He is a breed of strong and rugged individual who likes to sweat and strain. His workshop is a small room made of unfinished logs, lumber, and stone. It has two windows, but with less lighting, as darkness allowed him to easily see the glow of the heated metal, the blazing fire and flying sparks. What could be more fascinating to a person's eyes than the smoke rolling from the fire, the red hot metal shaping under the hammer, turning from red to iron blue, and the hot metal sizzling when shoved in water?

One could see junk and old tools hanging on the walls. One side of the room is scattered with bar stock and scrap metal. In the middle of the wall is the forge with the anvil(a heavy iron block with a flat top and concave sides, on which metal can be hammered and shaped) standing about three or four feet in front of it. The bellows(a device with an airbag, that emits a stream of air when squeezed together with two handles, used for blowing air into a fire) are built into the forge. On the opposite side of the room is a workbench where Mark does various things, such as fitting axe heads and cutting wooden handles to fit. Under this bench, Mark keeps his supply of various kinds of handles for knives, blades, swords, axes and hoes.

The day was dull, a bit cold and windy. Mark was fitting wooden handles to the weapons. He felt someone coming, he looked up to see his friend Brock who works along with him in the shop. He was another son of a bladesmith family.

Brock, do you even work here? It's been so long. Where were you?

A deep voice asked a man with crystal blue eyes and a dark beard. One could say he's hard not to spot.

Why are you here, Brock? He asked again raising his eyebrows

I went to Jade with my girl to watch the Carnival.

And? Why are you here now?

To apologize. It was my fault. I want to ask you not to blame her man. I haven't seen her all summer.

Apology accepted, but we agreed, Brock. It's time. You like her. She likes you.

I know that.

Well, have you told her? Mark gave him a sarcastic look

No, Until I've got things more figured out, you're the only person I'm telling, okay?

Yes.

And by the way, I was gonna ask you

What? Anything, but please don't invite me to third wheel you two. And I have a lot of work to do.

Yeah about that... He hesitated a bit. But he gathered the courage to tell Mark.

I don't think I will be able to make it tomorrow.

Why? Mark frowned at him

Brock gave him a shy smile that made Mark raise his eyebrows trying to figure out what it is about.

I'm planning on taking her on a date tomorrow. Before you say anything I want you to know that, it's nothing serious just a dinner

Mark shook his head, with a puzzled look.

I was wondering if you could help me, Brock asked

With what?

I'm confused about where to take her for dinner

Hmm. Make a reservation at Crescent City dining Galatoire's in the Riverbend street

That's nice. Thank you, man.

And don't forget to dress well for the evening. Girls love men who dress well. Trust me. He winked at him

Look who's giving me dating advice, Brock mocked him

I'm serious Brock! Wear your tux and get her a flower bouquet

Mark, I'm nervous.

It's just a dinner date. Being nervous isn't bad, it just means that something important is happening and you care about this. And you care about her.

Yeah, I guess. I'm still figuring things out.

Don't try to be what you're not, you got this.

Thanks, man. I'll get back to work.

Go get her tiger, Mark gave him a smirk.

Brock walked away and went to fix the wooden handles in the axes.

It was a breezy evening and Mark was almost done with his work, so he decided to close up and go home. He patted Brock on his shoulders and said,

I'm going home Brock, lock the doors once you're done.

Okay, see you tomorrow.

See you.

Black ominous clouds blanketed the naked sky, gusts of wind swept across the streets.

It was getting a bit cold and windy. Mark took his scarf and wore it around his neck. He was walking past the streets of Lune. The spooky streets and alleyways come alive as one's imagination plays tricks. It seems as if every alleyway, every door, and every window into a historic home, can be harbouring one of the City's spirits. Every home you come to is easy to imagine it being haunted, with the spirits inside tormenting the living. Strangely, Lunians are fascinated with the culture of death as a passage from the Here and Now to the Other Side and as weird as it may seem, locals and city-implants have found other ways to celebrate those who have passed.

Mark walks through these streets with so many thoughts in his mind.

The wind lashed upon the palm trees in the distance. He could feel the storm ready to pour at any moment. He could see his house clearly now; the dusty windows, wooden doors. The rusty, iron gate creaked loudly as he pushed it open. Rotten planks of wood lay upon the ground. Meanwhile, the rain started to pour.

Thank god I reached just before the rain, he thought to himself in relief.

On ringing the doorbell he felt so relieved when his mother Hellen Wood came to open the door. She looked like an old woman, and indeed she was; One could think she might be weaker, for her age. She had wrinkles on her face. Her grey hair was shining bright in the yellow light of their living room. Her work at home, makes one think deeper because people at her age generally begin to wither. She was none other than an extraordinary woman alive, who brought up her son Mark Wood all by herself. She took all the responsibility of household and life. She has nothing except to be proud of her son.

She greets him inside. He was so delighted to see her after a long day at work. Her presence alone seems to take away the loneliness of the house.

He removed his coat and hung it in the chair nearby. Both of them were silent.

The rain throbbed against the roof and the echoing sound of water dripping broke the suffocating silence.

How was your day? She asked.

As usual, he replied

The ceiling was as dark as slate. A yellow bulb tied to a grey rope hung from the ceiling, swaying sideways like a pendulum, fighting against the gushes of wind.

The Wood family had dinner together. After the meal, they heard an eerie sound so Mark decided to see where the noise was coming from. He heard the sound from upstairs. The stairs creak so loudly that it is like an old bridge over a muddy swamp. He saw the window was open due to the wind. He closed the window and sat on his bed. In his room, there is a king-size bed, the furniture and the portraits are hanging up on the wall. There is nothing else in the room to add to the feeling of loneliness that he gets every time in the room.

This is the gloomiest room in the whole house. He was ready for bed. He tried to sleep but the noises disturbed him. He was awake staring at the ceiling. Eventually, he tried to sleep but he was still very restless.

He thought to himself, What is my destiny? What am I going to do in my life? Is being a bladesmith in Lune my fate?

In between the restlessness he dozes off to sleep. It felt as if his body belonged to someone else. He can feel his bare feet touching the earth. He felt no control over his dream, but he realised that his imagination was running wild. He dreamt that he was wandering along a narrow street of vast length, which was an unbroken line of high straight houses, their walls and doors resembling those of a prison. The atmosphere was tense, and the time seemed that of twilight; in the narrow line of sky visible far overhead between the two rows of house-roofs, He could not discern sun, moon, or stars, or colour of any kind. All was grey, impenetrable and dim.

He saw a building so damaged like it was under some terror attack. The structure of the building was barely standing. In the old abandoned building, there is nothing but an echo and stagnation. There is no light, no movement of air, no warmth. The windows no longer beckon light inside, no longer lift the gloom that the walls impose. Instead, they add to the growing sense of dampness and dark. And permit the chill wind to penetrate. It is likely the building was abandoned during the Wars in Lune, due to the scale of the conflict, and was abandoned due to damage. He thought this to himself.

Under his foot, the grass was springing. Nowhere was the least sign of life the place seemed deserted. He stood alone in the silence and desolation.

Silence? No! As he listened, there came a low creeping sound like moaning; a sound that never ceased, and that was so native to the place. Then, for the first time, he saw a door. He perceived that the door had neither lock nor handle on the outside, but could be opened only from within.

Suddenly the same voice, marvelously clear and silvery, called him by name. He saw behind him a long passage, he walked through the passage. He saw a shape of a man above mortal height, a black shadow. He approached him, and as he went, his body felt some strange sensation of floating above the surface of the ground.

As he came closer to him, he couldn't control the way his body felt. He was feeling lightheaded and weak. As he came closer, the shadow seemed to be someone. A person...

His head started to spin, he couldn't balance himself. Mark wood was too weak to utter a single word. But somehow Mark asked in his lowest fragile voice,

"Who are you?"